My Time at the North Korean Border: The DMZ

One of the most mysterious borders in the world. Highly sensitive. Two countries still technically at war. Yet also a booming tourist attraction.

What was it like to visit this eerie dead space in one of the globe's most politically tense places?

Well, I went and found out.

Upon my recent visit to Seoul, I chose to do what many tourists do and take a day trip to the DMZ, the 4km wide buffer zone that separates North and South Korea.

Standing on the side of a bustling main road in downtown Seoul, surrounded by beauty clinics, fast food outlets, skincare stores and clothing shops, I wondered what I would really see on the tour. Would I really get that close to North Korea?

After some confusion around meeting points and a near miss with our tour, a modern coach pulled up, plastered with advertisements showcasing joyful bike rides across nearby Nami Island. We climbed abroad and were treated by a cheery and informative Korean woman who would be our tour guide for the remainder of the journey? 

After a 20-minute journey creeping through Seoul's morning rush-hour traffic, and a few additional pickups of fellow day-trippers, our tour guide began an important security briefing.

The Rules:

• You must carry your passport.

• You must provide your contact information and personal details to the military.

• Soldiers will board the bus to check documents and collect information.

• You must wear the name badge provided by your tour guide at all times.

• Photography is restricted in certain areas.

And, of course, no crossing the border…

About a 40 minute drive later, we arrived at the entrance to the DMZ, where South Korean military personnel boarded our bus to conduct routine security checks. The process was surprisingly mundane and quick. Nothing like the intimidating movie-like experience I had imagined. 

Along the route to our final destination, the observatory tower, we stopped at several statues and memorial sites commemorating the separate families and victims of the Korean War. The places were undeniably moving, particularly as our tour guide spoke about the horrors of the conflict. A war that witnessed some of the most brutal atrocities in modern history. 

Another stop on the tour was one of the three infiltration tunnels. After the Korean War ended, North Korea attempted to invade South Korea by digging tunnels deep underground to cross the border undetected. Thanks to a tip-off from a North Korean insider, South Korea became aware of the operation and began searching for the tunnels. After many failed attempts, several were eventually discovered, and South Korean forces dug their own tunnels to intercept them. Known as the infiltration tunnels, we visited the largest of the three.

These tunnels are steep and descend deep underground, and the climb both down and back up should not be underestimated. Once at the bottom, the tunnel itself is narrow, low, and dark. Unfortunately, my fear of confined spaces, thanks to two failed caving experiences as a child, meant I was unable to fully explore it. My boyfriend, however, made the full journey and was able to look through towards the underground border area, which was heavily monitored by CCTV.

After the tunnel visit, we re-boarded the bus and the anticipation grew as we approached our final, and easily most exciting, stop of the trip: the observatory.

Now, I will make this clear in case you were hoping for a photograph of North Korea. 

Unfortunately, but understandably, no pictures or videos are allowed within the observatory. Although some brave visitors chanced it, I did not under the watchful eye of the South Korean military.

Despite the lack of photographs, I can describe what I saw, but perhaps more importantly, what I felt.

Standing atop a drab concrete building, with the wind rushing around you, you are faced with a diverse crowd, a row of telescopes and North Korea staring back at you. 

Safely on South Korean soil, a country of wealth, joy, and freedom, staring into North Korea, a nation that is isolated, impoverished, and feared, feels nothing short of immensely depressing.

The view consists of a striking mountain range, a real village, a fake village, a Guinness World Record flagpole, and the two bright blue huts where soldiers from both sides stand face-to-face.

After patiently waiting in line for a telescope, my first point of focus was clear in my mind: the real village.

The village consists of a cluster of low-rise concrete apartment blocks nestled at the foot of the mountains. After living in China for the previous six months, it did not initially strike me as being very different from the many small towns and villages that exist in Shanghai's shadow, until I saw the people.

Watching farmers tirelessly plough fields, while stern-faced soldiers stood guard and armed personnel circled the flagpole without missing a beat, I was struck by a sudden wave of eeriness and sorrow.

The reality of all the facts I had learned online through hours of YouTube documentaries felt more tangible than ever before. In front of me, the North Korean farmers I watched working long hours would receive only minimal government rations which were hardly enough to survive. 

Unlike those around me, waiting impatiently for their turn on the telescope, were a constant stream of wealthy and free tourists. 

Free to work abroad. Free to holiday abroad. Free to speak, laugh, criticise, and move. Filled with autonomy over their own lives. Surrounded by food, information, and entertainment.

I have always been aware of the disparities in North Korea. Yet, being so close to such a restricted and isolated nation, and to such improvised people, not only in physical necessities but also in imagination and freedom of their own mind, felt bleak and frustrating to say the least. 

It was difficult to fully take in what I was seeing. As I watched them, I wondered if they were watching me back? Did they dare to break gaze from their labour to take a glance at us? Possibly risking punishment from their military minders. 

So many questions filled my mind, many of which had surfaced before during my hours of research. But one unique question formed as I stood on that tower.

Do these ordinary North Koreans, living in a village only a few kilometres away from me, know what this building is? 

Many North Koreans still believe that they and their country are at war with the United States, and as the DMZ is manned by US/UN forces, I wondered whether they knew that this tower, filled with goggle-eyed watchers (myself included) locked into their movements, was simply full of tourists mesmerised by their peculiar existence. Or whether they feared we might be the enemy. 

Visiting the DMZ is a mixture of history, sadness and bucket-list energy. Photo opportunities on the approach to the observatory are everywhere: colourful signs, meaningful statues, and comic-like props, all patiently waiting to be photographed. 

However, standing on the observation tower, it is difficult not to feel overwhelmed by an odd mixture of intrigue, sadness, and awe.

Written by, Jeanie Myers